


anything but your surrender

by crookedspoon



Series: Spicing up the Autumn 2017 [16]
Category: Injustice: Gods Among Us
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, F/M, Flashbacks, I Don't Even Know, Kinktober 2017, POV Billy Batson, Sex Pollen Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 08:32:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12406857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, stumbling back and spinning on his heels, but he knew the answer to his question, oh God, he knew it with the clarity of a buried fact come back to haunt him.





	anything but your surrender

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 18 "Masturbation" at Kinktober, though, uh, this is really rather vague.
> 
> I'm going to hell for this. _The special hell._ Billy would be 16-17 in Year Five, even though he's still drawn like a 13-year-old. C'mon, guys. You're allowing Damian the courtesy of aging, why not Billy? 
> 
> The sex pollen idea popped into my head back in January of 2016. Initially with Shazam and Billy as separate entities, the way it had been portrayed since Year One. Until I noticed Buccellato no longer used that mythology in Year Four. The Shazam-is-Billy thing complicated matters, because of the whole underage thing. Last time I touched this was back in September of 2016. But I hate spending so much time on an idea only to have my unfinished attempts rot on my drive. So I thought, I've already written so many problematic things for Kinktober this year, why not go back and finish this one too? No idea if it makes sense though. Probably not. Too much splicing of notes from different stages of development. Also, I haven't touched the comics since before that either.

The tiles are cold and hard against his forehead, a jarring contrast to the searing knives that slice down his back. He'd turned the water as hot as he can bear it and then a notch higher. His screaming skin is now as red as a lobster, but there's no boiling it off to scrub out the sick feeling underneath.

He wishes he could just shut off his mind, wishes he would not have to think, to feel, or to remember.

His blood is bubbling in his veins and his fingers tremble against the pain of moving to turn the knob. If he just stands still, it's not so bad, but the slightest shift becomes unbearable.

The pain helps him focus, though, centers him around himself and away from the cloud of his thoughts. They keep whirling around the same handful of hours, and no matter what he does, he just can't make them stop. They're insistent, like weeds, infesting the landscape of his mind and polluting it with scenes he'd rather forget. Worst of all are the sensory details his memory provides. No, worst of all is that he craves—

He slams his fist against the tiles and clenches his teeth.

Within his line of sight stands the reason for his disgust, erect and defiant of the painfully hot water.

He turns the water cold and gasps when the icy spray hits his frame, just as sharp and slicing as the heat before. His body jerks and shudders from the violent change in temperature, but he keeps his teeth firmly together. It's much too early to be waking Uncle Dudley already, and he'd rather avoid talking to anyone at all right now.

* * *

He'd woken up snug and comfortable on his side, if a little too warm. He'd nearly fallen from his mattress when he wanted to roll onto his stomach. Something stopped him, some bar across his stomach, something like... an arm? 

Billy _jumped_ out of his bed without thinking, this time not hindered by anything but still stumbling in his haste, heart knocking against his ribcage.

The cool night air raised goosebumps on his exposed skin. He was only wearing boxer shorts. In the dim light from the streets he noticed his clothes lying in heaps in front of the bed. He quickly pulled them on because he did not want to be facing whatever was in his bed without at least the comfort of a marginally protective layer of clothing.

He clicked on his bedside lamp. 

Something shifted beneath his blanket. He had his magic word ready in case this something leaped out at him. 

But nothing did, even when he pulled the blanket aside.

He promptly threw it back. What was underneath was worse than he could have imagined.

"Wha' time izzit? 's still dark out."

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, staggering back and spinning on his heels, but he knew the answer to his question, oh God, he knew it with the clarity of a buried fact come back to haunt him.

"Lil' Shaz?" her voice came muffled from the blanket and grated on his nerves already. "Why'd you change back?"

Exhaustion washed over him now that he knew nothing lethal hid behind him. Exhaustion and a gruesome guilty feeling that twisted his guts. He was too tired and sick to deal with this. With _her._

She giggled. Of course she did. What else _would_ she be doing in a situation like this? 

"I had the nicest dream," she said, rustling the sheets as if she were rolling around in them. "Except, it wasn't a dream right? Because I'm sore in places you don't normally pummel someone during fist fights." 

More giggling. 

"I can still feel his hands on me. Hook right, jab left, and like..." 

More rustling. 

"Woah, would you look at these contusions?" 

Like an idiot, he did. With a delighted squeal, she bared her side body to him. A collection of bruises walked up her thighs to her shoulders like pawprints left by a tiger. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could so he wouldn't have to look anymore.

"So many pretty handshapes. Do you think he's a bit possessive? That would be so adorable."

Billy clenched his fists. "Stop. Talking. Already."

She looked up from her inspection of these bruises, puzzled. "I'm just tryna tell you how happy this makes me, ya know. To feel wanted again."

"I said stop!" Did she ever quit? Did she not notice what this was doing to him, having to remember?

"What? You jealous or somethin'?"

"Why the _hell_ would I be jealous?"

"I dunno, I thought your obvious boner might have something to do with it."

Shit, maybe she did notice. Although she wasn't supposed to see this. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Heck, I don't care even if it did." She shrugged and the blanket slipped further down her thighs. "I mean, I understand. If I had a wiener and a pretty naked lady in my bed, not to mention one with such rad bruises, I'd be poppin' a chubby, too. Just sayin'."

Billy wanted to find the nearest hole and climb into it. Alternately, he wanted to put his head through the nearest wall. Either way, he couldn't be having this conversation. "Don't you ever shut up?"

"Not if it makes you so awkward." She sported a mean grin. "Sorry, sweetie. You know, you could just easily get rid of your embarrassment if you'd transform. I wanna cuddle up with my man."

"How did this happen?" he asked instead of letting her goad him again, although he didn't really want to know. He just wanted her gone. It was hard not looking at her when she was so very naked and not at all self-conscious about it. He began picking up her things and throwing them at her, hoping she'd get the message.

"I'm not even sure myself," she said, but thankfully she was sorting her clothes, turning them right side up and in. "One moment we were bangin' each other up, the next, just plain... you know."

"You didn't plan this?" Billy asked dubiously, crossing his arms in front of his chest, but not feeling so grand about it as when he was doing it as Shazam.

"Nuh-uh. This one ain't on me, so I'm not taking responsibility for any of it."

"Convenient. Why don't I barely remember anything after the fight?"

Harley cocked her head, in the middle of sniffing her uniform. "Did you switch places with Shaz again? Because I don't remember much either. Ew no, this one is rank, I'm not putting it on again."

"You still don't get it, do you?" He didn't really want to tell her, because as long as she thought he and Shazam were different entities, he could deny this ever happened. But she still didn't make the connection and he hoped that once she did, she'd leave him the hell alone.

"Get what?"

" _I_ am Shazam. You fought with _me._ "

Harley's eyes sized him up, head to foot. "No offense, but your big bro is like, _way_ bigger'n you."

"Shazam is my adult form." Billy puffed his chest out, but again it felt less imposing because he was so scrawny.

"You mean like a Digimon?" At least her face finally began expressing an ounce of the shock appropriate for this situation. "Wait. Holy smokes, do you mean _hot you_ from the future and I did the do?"

"It's not me from the future. Or not exactly. What I'm trying to say is that it's still me inside."

"Ugh," Harley's face screwed up again, but he couldn't be sure if it was her reaction to what he'd just told her or because of the smell of her clothes. "You're tellin' me I can add cradle robbin' to the list of my offenses?" She groaned and rubbed her hands through her face. "My parole officer is gonna love this. If he's still alive."

"So now I'm just a kid to you?" Billy asked, offended. He's not a child anymore, but for some reason it stung that she thought of him that way. "That didn't seem to matter when you threatened my friend."

"I told you I wasn't going to harm her."

That was how this whole mess got started. As so often, his day had started to go downhill the moment Harley stepped into it and bullied him into a fight. He'd hadn't been in the mood, but what are you to do when an unpredictable psycho lady threatens your friends? 

You let her have that brawl.

He should never have let her goad him, though. If he'd trusted in her humanity to not shoot his friend, he probably wouldn't be stewing in his skin right now. Then again, Harley's unpredictable, and she has little regard for human life. He couldn't have taken that chance if it meant endangering a friend.

And if he's being brutally honest with himself, he wouldn't pass up a chance to transform, even if his plan had not been to fight her. 

She kept putting him in a tough spot by coming to him; Superman might still want her head, but Billy felt like he owed her for rescuing him from the Underworld. He had extended a truce.

That was broken now.

How could he ever trust her again after this? How could he trust himself?

* * *

Billy rubs his hair dry with extra fervor, trying to ignore the spot where Harley had been. The way he understood it, Harley had been storing a variety of powders gleaned from Poison Ivy inside her mallet and when he smashed it during their fight, the powder cases exploded too and released a potent aphrodisiac.

His awareness had become a muddled thing. It was like he noticed Harley for the very first time. She'd been running around in those skimpy rags for years and they hadn't done anything for him before. In that moment, however, he was consumed with the need to touch the exposed skin, to taste, to _conquer._

And Harley seemed to welcome his attention, his hands on her shoulder and on the small of her back, crushing her to him. She'd kissed him then and he's never been kissed like that before, much so much longing and intent. Something inside of him had snapped and he gave up struggling against it. 

After that, it became impossible to process a rational thought. He lost control over his conscious will. He'd been nothing more than want and need. He's never felt this kind of unquenchable desire before.

All he wanted was her, all of her, stripped to the very core and his for the taking. There he'd been, a vessel for the Gods' powers, at the mercy of the demon Lust and worshipping a nutso in its name.

He couldn't put her out of his head.

Still can't. He should probably be changing his bedclothes, but he's tired and cold and just wants to sink into the forgiving oblivion of sleep.

His oversensitized skin, however, wouldn't let him. Every brush of his blankets is like a caress from disembodied fingers. The scent still clinging to his sheets takes shape and tickles his senses awake. He can almost feel hot breath by his hair.

The erection he'd just killed is springing back to life, more insistent than ever.

Billy thought the poison must still be in his system, but it's his own desire.

All he wants is to taste Harley, to take her in every way he remembers and then some. His mouth is dry just from thinking about her.

He's not proud of how he ended this. She'd been so heart-broken.

She'd tried to explain why she had this sort of aphrodisiac in the first place.

"Have you ever been in love?" she'd asked. "Do you know the kind of excuses you make for someone you care for? Maybe I believed in what he did. Maybe I wanted to change him and believed that I could. Maybe I wasn't thinking straight. I don't know anymore. I've been thinking it over so many times the memory has become fluid.

"I guess I did think I could change him if I loved him enough, you know. When you go out with a psychopath, you gotta be creative in the love department. They don't always want you when you want them and talking about your feelings with them? Yeah, that's a no-go, too. So there ain't no way to find a mutually satisfactory solution because most of the time there ain't none.

"I just wanted him to be mine for a bit, not Batman's. I wanted him to love me like he always said he did. So I asked Pammie to help me out. And it turned out to be good for both of us, me and my puddin'."

"So you roofie'd him to get what you want?"

"Roofie is such a terribly weighted word. Don't let Pammie catch you calling her wonder drug that. No, it was just a mood enhancer, nothin' fancy."

"It didn't feel like 'just a mood enhancer,' though."

"Got _you_ in the mood, didn't it?" Snicker, snicker.

He'd been so angry at how flippant she was, how she didn't take any of this seriously at all. Like what she had done to him hadn't meant anything at all to her. (What he'd done to her.)

"I can see why you'd need drugs like this," he'd said and made his voice intentionally cutting. "As if anyone in his right mind would want to sleep with someone like you."

From the looks of her, the punch had been successful. But it had been a low blow.

She dropped her gaze and radiated _hurt._

Her voice was quiet but steady when she said, "Yeah, I know."

God, he still remembered the pure, unadulterated joy that had lit up her face when they'd kissed the first time and it had been the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Her face then had been the opposite of that.

Billy presses the balls of his hands against his eyes and groans. He feels terrible about this, but apparently not terrible enough to shut out the images of a very naked and very willing Harley that warred with the image of a still very naked but also very sad Harley.

It amazed him that Harley seemed to be clothed in her skin, with not a speck of self-consciousness about her. The only girl he'd seen naked before that had been his sister and she'd given him hell for it.

Harley hadn't commented on his inexperience, although he doubted she'd been conscious enough to notice.

She had been warm and welcoming, enthusiastic and genuinely enjoying herself. She'd savored every kiss, every touch, accepting everything he had to offer like a precious gift.

With a twinge of guilt, he touches himself, remembering that grin she'd given him when she sank down on him – so different from her usual rude or maniacal facial expression, he couldn't describe it as anything other than than sweet and happy. She'd really loved doing this with him.

And he had to go and be such an asshole to her, because all he could think of was the way her brows knitted in concentration when he took her, and he didn't want to be confronted with what he, too, had enjoyed doing.

His hand is chafing on his erection and it seems a fitting punishment.

Part of him still thinks it was the right thing to do to antagonize her. He couldn't have her thinking she could come to him whenever she was bored and needed someone to pal up with. But another part knows she isn't that bad a person and that she didn't deserve this.

And a tiny, suppressed third part is probably angry at himself for ruining any future chances with her. 

He hates himself for wanting her, for wanting to just wake up in her arms again, nestled against her hair, warm and comfortable and secure in the knowledge she'd catch him if he ever fell again. He hates her for making him feel so vulnerable, for making him feel like their alliances don't matter, like this war doesn't matter, like there's not even any war going on.

He also hates her for making him feel sick of himself. Because he is.

For all his superpowers he's still a stupid little teenager with an unhealthy crush and a mommy complex.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Thinking of You" by A Perfect Circle.
> 
> Tumblr post for reblogging convenience can be found [here](https://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/post/168516114779/kinktober-day-18-masturbation). If there's any other pairings/tropes/kinks/ideas you wanna see, let me know! I'm also @crookedteaspoon on tumblr and twitter.


End file.
